


Back Again With You

by karavasa



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-DA2, Romance, Slow Build, Smut, post-Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karavasa/pseuds/karavasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the defeat of the Archdemon, Zevran has carried his fight against the Crows back home to Antiva. He receives unexpected visitors during a lull in the carnage, including his Warden, Nora Cousland. He lost her to another long ago, partly because he couldn't acknowledge how he truly felt. It's tempting for him to see this as a second chance, but he suspects that she may need her old friend more than her old lover.</p><p>Zevran isn't quite sure if her presence is a blessing or a curse, but he's grateful for it either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as Zevran set foot in his narrow townhouse, he knew something was wrong. A cheery fire crackled in the main room, and lamplight shone through the gap at the bottom of his kitchen door. The disturbing stench of charred meat also wafted from that direction.

He lived alone. His housekeeper should have been long gone by now, leaving only a tidy house and a cold supper behind her. If the Crows had come in his absence, if they'd harmed her, then they would pay in blood and pain for that treachery.

Zevran eased the front door closed without a sound and then padded past the stairs. When he approached the kitchen, low voices echoed from within.

These people were clearly overconfident fools. He thought he'd taught the Crows better manners by now, but perhaps it was time for another lesson. He slid his knives slowly from their scabbards and reminded himself to keep one alive for questioning.

He shouldered open the door with a glad cry, eager to take down the intruders. But his plans for slaughter were abruptly cut short by the unlikely sight of Isabela standing beside the tallest elf Zevran had ever seen. She was as lovely as ever, even with her lips scrunched into a pout at the smelly pot that bubbled away on a hook atop the hearth.

The absurdity of the scene shocked him to stillness, giving him no time to react as the other elf sprang into action.

The stranger whipped a massive sword off his back with a speed Zevran would not have thought possible. Between the lanky muscles and the glowing tattoos the man was magnificent; he was so stunning that it was almost difficult for Zevran to resent the blade speeding towards his neck.

"Fenris, no!" Isabela's command cut through the warrior's aggression, and he halted just as quickly as he'd started to strike.

Zevran allowed himself a fast glance into those frosty green eyes before palming the flat of the sword away and moving to embrace his favorite pirate.

"My darling Isabela, you are every bit as surprising as you are beautiful," he said, sheathing his weapons and dropping a kiss on her cheek. And despite a sharp premonition that he ought not provoke the elven warrior too far, Zevran couldn't resist sliding a hand from Isabela's back down to one shapely hip.

The stranger, Fenris, let out a low growl from behind him. Zevran couldn't resist a chuckle as Isabela slipped from his grasp slowly enough to show this savage new lover of hers that she was doing it of her own accord. She put a hand on Fenris's arm and tilted her head up to him. "Behave."

"I will if he will," Fenris said. His voice was deep and resonant, just the sound of him tugged at some low, primitive part of Zevran’s mind.

Fenris set a protective hand at Isabela's back. Her dusky skin fairly glowed against his tattooed paleness, and his lean, tall frame accentuated her curves. If Isabela had brought this vision here for any reason other than to share him, it was a clear sign of her unfathomable cruelty.

"We ate all your supper things," she told Zevran lightly, as if hunger was the appetite that rode him. "I tried to make you something else, but I don't think it went very well."

Zevran carefully avoided looking in the pot and set his face into one of his most attractive leers. "I'm sure I can find something else here to satisfy me."

"Maker's breath, Zevran, we're not here to sleep with you," she said, rolling her eyes. A slight jerk from Fenris made it clear he hadn't missed the plural pronoun.

Zevran laughed, although it truly was a pity that their business wouldn't involve pleasure. Perhaps he could manage to tempt them during whatever task they were here to set before him. "Then what is it, Isabela? Have you picked up another husband for me to kill?"

She snorted. "Someone's husband wants killing all right, but this time it's not mine," she said, letting her amused tone slide a little towards anger. "We came across a friend of yours searching for a fast ship to any port down at the Denerim docks. It's lucky that we were there. She was attracting attention."

Zevran's mind flashed through their list of shared acquaintances. Only one married Fereldan woman came to mind, although that name was too ludicrous to consider. He was just about to ask for an explanation when he heard pounding at his front door.

"Did I mention that her husband's in town? We had a head start on him, but it would be just my rotten luck he'd miss the storm that slowed us."

The banging grew more insistent. Isabela and Fenris trailed Zevran to the front door, which rattled under heavy, repeated blows. The clamor subsided only when Zevran drew the latch, at which point Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, crowded through the frame.

He shot Zevran a poisonous glare and roared, "All right you slippery bastard, where's my wife?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought that a hardened Alistair would make a better king. The idea for this story came from the realization that he might make a worse husband.
> 
> This is my first attempt at fanfic.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where is she?" Alistair loomed over Zevran, but the elf maintained a nonchalant air.

"Alas, my impatient friend, I am afraid I do not know."

“Oh really? Well that’s funny, because I happen to know that she left Denerim along with those two.” Alistair pointed at Isabela and Fenris, who were looking on with a matched set of wary expressions. “I swear, the only thing worse than her coming _here_ of all places is her running off with people connected to that madness in Kirkwall.”

Fenris furrowed his brow at the reference, but further talk was cut off when Zevran noticed a low rumbling from behind him. It was a bone-chilling sound that, even after all this time, he could still place without question. He turned, oh so slowly, to show his open hands to the familiar mabari hound at the base of the stairs. But the dog was looking past him, aiming the less than subtle threat directly at the man who'd shared its owner's bed these last ten years.

Alistair froze. A mabari's loyalty went deeper than crowns or kings, meaning that the hound was the only being in this room that wouldn't hesitate at the thought of his rank. Zevran's eyes were locked so tightly on the dog's steady advance that he failed to notice the woman behind it until she called from halfway down the stairs.

"Ash, hold."

The mabari stilled, and Zevran raised his eyes. Nora Cousland wore practical clothes of cotton and brown leather, and her dark brown hair was bound in a simple braid. No matter how she presented herself, Zevran couldn't imagine this woman getting lost in a crowd. She descended with her chin held high and her shoulders straight while her cool blue eyes assessed the scene before her.

Once she reached their level, she turned to her host. "Hello, Zevran, it's good to see you. I apologize for the intrusion, but Isabela thought we might be welcome here."

"I am, as ever, at your disposal, my Warden," he said, inclining his head. He gave her the title she'd taken on herself rather than the one she'd claimed by marriage, which earned him a small, sad smile before she turned her attention to Alistair.

"I'm not going back," she said firmly.

"Can we at least talk about it in private?" Her husband asked, with a wide gesture at their audience.

"Only one person here has given me cause not to trust them, Alistair."

He winced as the barb hit home, but she unbent enough to grant his request. After a quick discussion, Zevran, Isabela, and Fenris agreed to leave the royals alone in the house for a time.

No sooner were the three out the door when Zevran pointed his companions towards the nearest tavern.

"It's no fair going to eavesdrop without me," Isabela said with a groan.

"Hush now, sweet Isabela. You know I'm less likely to be noticed if I watch over her on my own. Go have some wine, get a room, and ravish your warrior. But come by tomorrow to check that His Majesty hasn't murdered us both."

As the pair walked away, Zevran heard the other elf's low tones. "I can't decide if I want to kill that man or get outrageously drunk with him." Isabela's laughing response faded away into the typical sounds of Antivan night.

Zevran ducked into an alley and scaled quickly up to his bedroom window. It took careful wrangling to undo the trap he'd set on it before he could raise the sash and slip inside. He crept out into the hall and crouched at the railing above his main room, where he could hear his Fereldan friends though not actually see them.

"For three years?" Hurt warred with anger in Nora's voice. "But we were making plans. We'd talked about that secret adoption, and I'd already agreed to fake a pregnancy."

"Eamon was going to arrange all that as soon as one of the women conceived." Alistair just sounded tired.

“And let me guess, he agreed to take care of everything so long as you followed his advice. Not that I'd imagine you were that difficult to convince.”

He sighed. “Nora, you have to understand, ensuring the succession is a big responsibility.”

Zevran didn’t have to see her face to imagine the dark look that comment must have raised. "You went through the Joining the same as I did, Alistair. The taint won't let either of us have children."

"Tell that to Morrigan," he said bitterly.

"And you never tire of holding that against me, even though her ritual saved my life. If you had it to do over, would you make a different decision?"

His tone softened. "Of course not. But I thought we'd still have a family of our own somehow."

"Well that's not going to happen anymore, and you can thank Eamon's obsession with the precious Theirin bloodline."

Alistair was quick to defend his mentor. "Arl Eamon has our best interests at heart."

"You mean Ferelden's best interests, or at least his own interpretation of them. The man only cares about your happiness so long as it doesn't conflict with his vision for the kingdom." Nora's exasperation made it clear that they were rehashing familiar ground.

"I can't believe that," Alistair said.

"If Eamon is truly your friend, if he pushed for all this purely to help give us a child, then why send me straight to our chambers when I arrived two days early? It would have been easy enough to delay me and send you warning. I'd never have suspected a thing. Instead, he all but arranged for me to walk in and find you in our bed with another woman."

Zevran bit back a hiss of anger. Could the man truly have been such a fool as to play Nora false? It was unimaginable. King or no, Zevran had half a mind to beat him bloody.

Alistair was still talking, giving excuses and apologies and desperate oaths that made Zevran nearly retch to hear them. Then he spoke to her of love, as if he still had the right to do so. Nora finally cut him off with a few soft words too low for even Zevran's sensitive ears to catch, and Alistair's tone changed to one of resignation. "There really is no way I'll convince you to come home, is there?"

"No. There isn't." Her answer held a note of finality that her lord husband was forced to acknowledge.

"Then I suppose we have nothing left to say." Alistair heaved a long sigh, and his plate mail creaked towards the door. "My ship will wait until morning in case you change your mind."

"I won't."

"I know." Another sigh, and then he was through the door and gone.

Before Zevran could make his retreat, Nora's voice called out again. "You can come down now."


	3. Chapter 3

Zevran accepted the summons gracefully and went downstairs to join the soon-to-be former Queen of Ferelden.

Nora sat in his favorite armchair with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked just a touch older than he remembered, and her efforts at rebuilding her country's Gray Wardens had kept her strong and lean. He knew from her letters that she still rode out several times a year to deal with remaining pockets of darkspawn.

The biggest change was in the eyes. The Nora of his memories looked on the world with a raw, fierce joy that he'd always admired. Even in the worst days of the Blight, she could find pleasure in a drink or a song or a long, sweet kiss. Her eyes were flat and wounded now; the only spark in them came from the reflection of the fire. It was enough to make Zevran want to chase down Alistair and feed the man his liver.

On that long ago day when Zevran had pushed her to choose between the pleasures of his tent and a romantic attachment with her fellow Warden, he was hardly surprised by her decision. And if he’d missed the taste of her lips or the scent of her skin, at least he believed that she was with a man who could love her as she deserved. It seemed that the years since the Blight had changed them all even more than he thought possible.

"The fact that you heard me, my Warden, must mean I am dreadfully out of practice."

She shook her head and gestured at her hound. "Ash went wary for a moment and then calmed. I guess he recognized your scent."

"Ah," he said, reaching to ruffle the Mabari behind the ears. "If it took senses that keen to detect me, then perhaps I'm in even better form than I supposed." Ash nudged at Zevran's hand, happy with the praise and attention. Unfortunately, comforting the hound's mistress would not be so simple a task.

After a few moments of silence, Nora broached the subject they had to address. "I assume you heard enough of that to know why I left Denerim?"

Zevran nodded, unsure of what to say. He was sorry for her pain, but if Alistair had become a man capable of so base a betrayal, then he was no longer worthy of Nora's affection.

"Good," she replied, looking back to the fire. "Because I don't want to talk about it."

So distraction was called for. He could do distraction. "Then let us speak of other things. I have, for example, learned quite a few new poems since we last saw one another."

She laughed then despite herself. It was a small, weak sound, but it was a start. "Maybe we can save them for tomorrow? I was napping in your room when you arrived, and it was impossible to sleep on that damned ship."

"Of course," he said, gesturing towards the stairs. "Come up and I'll see you settled."

She followed him to his chamber. A second room opened off the hallway, but it was small and entirely free of furniture. He'd never seen the need for guest quarters. As a consequence, there was only one bed in the house.

When he announced that it was hers, he shushed her protests by declaring that he'd be out half the night in any case. "There are things that I must see to, things that must be done tonight." She was too exhausted to argue for long.

Ash sat by the side of the bed, and Zevran turned to regard him. "It occurs to me that I never greeted you properly, so welcome to Antiva City." The dog whuffed a response as he continued, "It is a beautiful place, but also a dangerous one. Should any stranger enter the house before dawn, you are to bite them most severely. Yes?"

The Mabari barked happily. Satisfied that she would be protected, Zevran clambered back out his window, eased the trap into place once again, and left the lady to her slumber.

It wasn't long before he spotted Alistair. A native might have taken half a dozen other routes, but someone unfamiliar with this city would always head directly for one of its main thoroughfares. Zevran kept to the rooftops, shadowing his target nearly to the docks before Alistair abruptly turned into a seedy, sailor-infested bar.

The sight gave Zevran pause. He'd intended to see Alistair safely to his ship, because no matter how badly he'd behaved towards Nora, she would not want him to bleed to death in some Antivan back alley. Zevran had no real desire to talk to the man, but he supposed that Nora would also be unhappy should Alistair be robbed and sold off as a galley slave. So he shimmied down a nearby drainpipe, cursing his soft-hearted nature all the while.

Alistair was nearly done with his drink by the time Zevran entered. The crowd had given him a wide berth, but the elf could almost see a few of them calculating how long that fancy armor would keep them in ale. When Zevran approached and hailed his old friend, he adopted the threatening swagger that had once marked him among the most brazen of Crows. One didn't spend long in Antiva without coming to recognize such a display, and the greedy eyes soon turned back to their own drinks.

Alistair finished his mug in one long draw, and then he waved for a replacement before looking over at Zevran. "Go away."

As tempting as it was to leave the man to his fate, Zevran had already committed to saving him from his own stupidity. "I am afraid that would be less than healthy for you."

"Yes, Zevran, I'm not a total child, thank you," Alistair snapped. "I wanted a drink, or maybe five, and then a fight. I haven't had a decent fight in ages." His voice took on a wistful air.

"In this place, my friend," Zevran said quietly, "It is more probable you would be drugged and wake up two days out from land."

"Oh." Alistair slumped on his stool and took another sip from his freshly delivered mug. "Well thanks for making me feel even more useless than I do already. I can't even find a bar brawl without screwing things up."

Zevran took a seat beside him. "Come now, finish your foul-smelling liquor and let me walk you to your ship. If we are lucky, perhaps we'll be set upon by footpads. That would make you feel better, no?"

Alistair groaned and laid his head down on the bar.


	4. Chapter 4

A few hours later, the former Antivan Crow and the current King of Ferelden walked out of a bar. There was a joke in there somewhere, but Zevran could not quite make sense of it. He had been persuaded into a small glass of brandy followed by several larger ones, and after that the details had gone slightly fuzzy.

He was still, of course, in fine form to escort Alistair through the streets towards the bay. A small part of Zevran knew that it was neither safe nor wise to attract notice in his current condition. There was an enormous price on his head, after all.

Even knowing he was a marked man, it was difficult for Zevran to worry overmuch. Many of his former compatriots kept clear of him these days, although that had less to do with sentimentality than the fact that he'd killed each one who'd come forward for the bounty. He was feeling strong and fit and very nearly as sharp as he was when sober. And considering that his life had been upended over the course of the evening, he’d almost welcome a chance for some pure, uncomplicated violence.

Alistair stopped abruptly, halting both his steps and a fresh refrain of the bawdy song he’d picked up in the tavern. He turned to Zevran with a sudden look of suspicion. “Why are we here?”

“Beg pardon?” Zevran hardly felt up to philosophical musing.

“Why are you here with me? Shouldn’t you be off trying to seduce my wife by now?”

Zevran gave him a cool glance and a one-shouldered shrug. “I decided, just for decency’s sake, you understand, to wait until your ship cleared the harbor.”

Alistair’s face clouded, and then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t blame you for being there for her.”

“But you will do it all the same.”

“Well, yes, that’s true,” Alistair said. He began to walk again, slowly. “I did some bad things. Selfish, stupid things, and I’m not sure that I can even explain why. But none of that changes the way I feel.”

“Unfortunately for you, my friend, it is how she feels about the situation that matters.”

Alistair sighed. “It’s just that, after all this time, I don’t know how not to be in love with her.”

Zevran did _not_ want to hear this. And he especially didn’t want to feel the hard lump of pity that formed in his throat. He and Alistair had never been the kind of companions who shared drunken confessions. The only thing they’d ever had in common was loving Nora Cousland. The assassin ventured a few words all the same. “I am told that the pain of lost love grows weaker over time.”

“Oh stop it, please,” Alistair said, waving off the attempt at sympathy. “Don’t act like you aren’t thrilled about all this.”

Zevran paused for a steadying breath before replying. “Yes, of course. I have secretly longed for the woman I most admire in all of Thedas to suffer anguish and betrayal. How clever you are to have guessed it.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Alistair’s words were punctuated by short, drunken hiccups. “I’m not saying that you wanted her hurt. But I know you, Zevran. It won’t take long for you to start working your wiles on her. It’s what you do.”

It should have been easy to shrug off the words. Why credit the judgment of an angry drunk who’d destroyed his own marriage? But some combination of alcohol and accusation had shaken Zevran’s legendary self-confidence, and so he wondered. Was there some greedy, treasonous part of him that looked on Nora’s heartbreak as an opportunity?

They walked the rest of the way to the ship in silence. The pair exchanged nods before Alistair walked up the gangplank, but Zevran didn’t bother trying to defend himself. There was only one Ferelden whose opinion he truly cared about, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning was not one of Zevran’s best. His sore head competed with his growling stomach until he finally managed to drag himself up from the bedroll he’d laid out in the spare room. He plodded to his own room, empty now, and grabbed a fresh set of clothes before availing himself of the washroom that opened off the chamber.

He wanted to crawl into his oversized tub and soak last night’s memories away, but there was no escape from the questions that rattled around his mind.

Zevran had never bothered to hide his hedonistic tendencies. Life was too short and unpredictable to worry what others might think, and besides, he found that frankly stating his desires brought him more opportunities to indulge them. He felt no guilt about his lifestyle, but he was bothered by the assumption that he could not be a friend to Nora without seeking more from her.

Alistair had been lashing out. He’d also been wrong, and Zevran would prove it.

***

Nora spent her first night in Antiva City tossing back and forth in Zevran’s bed. From time to time, her galloping thoughts stilled long enough for her to doze off. Then she’d roll over, stretch out an arm, and startle herself awake at the realization that the rest of the bed was empty. Her sleep-fogged mind kept expecting a familiar weight beside her, but Alistair would never fit into that space again.

Since sleep proved too evasive to capture, she got up, lit a few candles, and wrote the letters that she’d put off during the voyage. The first was to Weisshaupt, informing them that they needed a new Warden Commander for Ferelden. She should have gone in person, asked for a different post in some other place. But between the Blight and those long years reestablishing the local warden population, the debt she owed Duncan was more than repaid.

The second letter, the one to Highever, was harder, but Fergus needed to know that “run off to Antiva” wasn’t some code phrase for “tossed in a pit at Fort Drakon.” She also had to make sure that he wouldn’t speak out against the divorce decree at the Landsmeet. Nora didn’t give her brother many details, but he knew her. He would understand there were precious few reasons she might run out on a marriage that she had seemed so happy in.

She’d spent half those storm-tossed travel days worrying herself sick over the rift between Highever and Denerim that her flight was sure to cause. She had no doubt Alistair would handle it fairly, but Fergus would never trust him again. Then again, with Alistair so firmly under Eamon’s sway, maybe it was good for her brother to be cautious.

Once the morning light was strong enough that she could pretend she’d rested, she wandered down and chose a book at random from Zevran’s shelves. Ash followed her quietly and sat by her chair. She turned the pages and her eyes passed over the words, but she couldn't have given the barest description of what the book was about. When she heard her host stirring upstairs, she started breakfast.

He put in an appearance just as she set out a large platter of eggs and sausage, and he turned to her with an appreciative grin. “Ah, my warden, you truly are a marvel. This is just the thing after a hard night’s carousing.”

Nora raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were working.”

“Well considering the company I kept, it was certainly an effort,” he said with a laugh. She gave him a searching look, but he didn’t elaborate. “It is good that you thought to prepare a meal, because there are many things to do today.”

“Such as?”

Before Zevran could reply, Ash lumbered to his feet. The mabari gave a small, bright bark just as someone knocked at the door. Isabela’s voice, faint but unmistakable, rang out from the other side. “Hello? Zevran? You’d better not be gutted or anything in there. If you can’t come to the door, just gurgle and Fenris will break it down.”

Zevran chuckled and went to let the pair in. Aiming a quick look back at Nora, he said, “Such as learning precisely how long it will take for me to draw out a blush from Isabela’s moody companion.”

As it turned out, that took hardly any time at all. A bit of lingering eye contact followed by a sly remark about the sausage brought a slight but noticeable flush to those pale cheeks. Nora felt a flicker of surprise that life with Isabela hadn't overwhelmed his shyness yet, but then again, Zevran had that effect on a lot of people.


	6. Chapter 6

A few hours later, Nora found herself on a whirlwind tour of the city. Zevran swept her past fountains and gardens and courtyards; it seemed almost as if he had a story to go along with each gleaming mansion. Isabela chimed in with tales of her own local escapades, including a few that included more bedding than brawling. While Nora herself would have been more circumspect in front of a lover, the heat in Fenris’s eyes made it clear he was anything but offended.

They eventually made their way to the Market District, a confusing maze of tightly packed stalls and tents. The overstuffed displays made the shops in Denerim look as bare and rustic as an out-of-season produce stand. Despite the many things to see and smell, Ash clung tightly to Nora’s side while she looked on the teeming crowds and wondered how anyone could manage to choose among it all.

Zevran handed over a heavy purse and told her to buy a few things for her stay. Apparently he’d noticed her lack of luggage.

“I don’t know, Zev. What’s wrong with my armor?”

“Oh it’s quite charming as armor goes, and you must certainly wear it in the event that we receive an invitation to the Deep Roads. But you have come to Antiva City. If I’m to show it to you properly, you will have need of a few essentials.”

Before she could protest further, Isabela steered her towards the first tailor shop in sight. “See that she chooses colors, Isabela,” Zevran called from behind them. “No more browns.”

Nora had walked out of her home with only the hard-wearing travel clothes she’d packed for her last journey to Vigil’s Keep. She also hadn’t carried many sovereigns on that trip, so she could hardly agree to the shopping and refuse the purse. She’d pay back every copper of it though, even if that meant accepting those tedious Chantry Board chores.

In a couple of hours she had two new dresses, a vest, some fine linen shirts, and a sinfully soft set of deep blue leathers. Isabela frequently called Fenris over for fashion advice, mostly to ask him detailed questions about every bodice that Nora tried.

Despite that shaky, empty feeling in her chest, their hectic day made it feel almost as if she’d come for a regular visit. And if she stared off into the distance now and then, Isabela could practically carry the conversation on her own.

  
***

  
While the women wandered into a jeweler’s stall, Fenris turned to Zevran with a troubled expression. “I fail to see why you two are dragging her all over the city. Why not let Nora sit home by the fire if that’s what she prefers?”

Zevran caught the warrior’s gaze and held it. “It sounds as if you spent some nights of your own sitting home. Was that preferable to your life as it is now?”

“Hmm. Perhaps not,” Fenris said. He still didn’t sound convinced.

Zevran nodded toward their companions and spoke softly. “Watch them for a moment and tell me what you see.”

“She is miserable,” Fenris began, obviously reacting to the stiff set of Nora’s shoulders and the tension in her frame. But as they looked further, other details began to stand out. Nora paid close attention to the things on offer, venturing opinions and eventually making selections for herself. She darted quick looks at Isabela, and tried, with mixed success, to force a smile. When Fenris continued, there was a note of grudging respect in his tone. “She is unhappy, but she is trying. She plays along because she does not wish to disappoint Isabela. Or you.”

“Precisely,” Zevran said, clapping the other elf on the back. “If we leave her to sulk and to brood, she will pick at this wound until it festers. So instead, I will drag her to every market and party and tavern in the city. She will act as though she enjoys it, and before long, she will think more about her future than her past.”

“That’s… surprisingly astute. You are not what I expected.”

Zevran heaved a broad sigh. “Yes, it is all too common for new acquaintances to judge me entirely based on my handsome face and obvious sexual magnetism.”

“Is that so?” Fenris raised an eyebrow, but this time, he didn’t blush.

The sun was slipping below the horizon before Isabela could be persuaded to leave the market. Zevran went back to pointing out landmarks, but his patter cut off abruptly as they turned a corner to find a group of Crows stretched across their path.

He recognized their hard expressions, though none of their faces were familiar. Just another flock of young fools seeking glory or death. Had he encountered them on his own, their numbers might have presented an interesting challenge, but it felt almost unfair to kill them under the circumstances. Zevran decided to be generous. “If you leave here quickly enough, my young friends, then my companions will not be forced to slay you.”

The lanky, young human at the center of the line turned his head to the ground and spat. “We’re not afraid of you, traitor. And we’re certainly not afraid of your whore, your fancy elf, or your dog lord bitch. We still outnumber you three to one.”

Zevran twitched his wrist and sent a dagger spinning into the throat of the man to the speaker’s left. Nora and Isabela followed his example, dropping two of the Crows on the right. Then Fenris charged, followed by Ash, and the street erupted in violence.

When everything was over but the last gasps of the dying, Ash held that first, blustering assassin pinned beneath his front paws. Nora cleaned her weapons on the cloak of one of her opponents before sauntering over to inspect the mabari’s prize.

She eyed the final Crow with a frosty glare that called on the entirety of her lineage and accomplishments. Here was a reminder that this woman was at home in a world of lords and kings. It was the look she’d turned on Howe before she killed him, the look she’d given Loghain before letting Alistair take his head. At least this time the Crow had the sense to stay silent.

“Fly back to your masters, little bird,” she said quietly, gesturing for the hound to release him. “Tell them Nora Cousland is in town. From now on, anyone who wants Zevran gets to come through me.”


	7. Chapter 7

They soon settled into a domestic routine broken up by daily outings and occasional Crow attacks. Zevran ordered furniture for the spare room and pretended not to notice the nights when she roamed around downstairs rather than sleeping. Isabela and Fenris rarely stayed in port more than a few days, but their frequent visits were always amusing.

Nora's smile began to come easier. Sometimes the expression even touched her eyes. Zevran was content.

Then Teagan Guerrin showed up at their door with sad eyes and a few fancy sheets of parchment. Zevran almost threw the man out before Nora caught sight of him. He was Eamon’s creature, and it wasn’t as if she needed an official decree to know that her marriage had ended. But one of those pieces of paper was a promissory note for a staggering amount of sovereigns, which would help to put Nora’s mind at ease.

When she emerged to greet their visitor, Teagan made a formal bow. There was no exact protocol for handling one's former queen, but she was also the daughter of a Teryn, a high ranking Grey Warden, and a hero in her own right. He erred on the side of deference.

"Despite these unfortunate circumstances, my lady, it is truly a pleasure to see you again." He made a slight movement, as if to reach for the hand she didn't offer him, before checking the motion.

"I think you'll find, Bann Teagan, that our present circumstance owes more to choice than to fortune." The words were direct, but she offered them with an air of stoic civility.

"Yes, of course," he replied, shuffling nervously in the entryway. "My lady, perhaps we might speak in private?"

Nora caught Zevran's eye, and he read the ambivalence in her face. She did not wish to be alone. She also didn't want to place him in an uncomfortable position. Bah. She ought to have learned by now that Zevran Arainai _lived_ for uncomfortable positions.

She seated herself in a high-backed chair. Ash settled his bulk on one side and Zevran stood behind her opposite shoulder, flanking her with support before she spoke again. "This will do, my lord."

She didn't ask him to sit or try to put him at his ease. This was not a social call. Nora donned her court manners as if they were the warden armor she still polished but never wore. Teagan briefly spoke of the debate in the Landsmeet before telling her that she was welcome to return to Ferelden at any time, though Alistair asked that she not live in Denerim or attend court.

There was one other matter. "His Majesty has also entrusted me with setting up a household that befits your rank, whether in Antiva or any other place you might desire to go."

She raised an eyebrow. "How very interesting. You may thank him for that most generous offer, but I have no need for such assistance."

The Bann cleared his throat. "I was instructed to see that you're living comfortably. His Majesty's wishes were quite specific, my lady." Ever the diplomat, Teagan would never directly voice the impropriety of Nora making her home with an elven assassin.

"I believe I understand his wishes well enough, but Alistair has forfeited any say in my living arrangements." Her tone took on an edge of frost, a reminder to the Bann that she was more than an inconvenience to be managed.

After another round of apologies and polite fictions, Teagan left. Nora devoted the rest of the day to searching out the bottoms of half the wine bottles in the house.

When Zevran finally carried her up to her bed, she nestled sleepily against his chest and mumbled drunken apologies. Zevran smoothed her hair and indulged in idle thoughts about how much it might cost to send a few Crows to Ferelden. They probably hated him enough to charge extra, but they wouldn’t refuse his coin.

As angry as he was at Alistair, at Eamon, at all those ingrates who failed to treat her properly after what she’d done for them, Zevran had his own regrets to bear. In those long ago days of the blight, back when they’d wrangle nobles in the morning, fight darkspawn before supper, and spend long, cold nights skin-to-skin in her tent, he had already been in love with her.

He’d been a broken, pitiful man, one who'd long claimed that love had no place in his world. He'd certainly told Nora that often enough. He led her to believe that he was interested solely in passion and pleasure, in rough hands on smooth skin, in knowing laughter in the dark. That would never have been enough for her, and he'd known it. He’d practically driven her into Alistair’s arms.

If he’d been more honest with her, less conscious of his own prickly pride, things might have been different. Or perhaps not. But either way, it would have been a more honest choice than the one he gave her. If he was intent on speeding assassins toward every man who’d ever wronged Nora Cousland, he may as well start with himself.

The Crows were still heavy on his mind when he escorted her home from the theater one night, dispatching a handful of overeager assassins along the way.

“I’ve always wondered why they don’t come after you at the house,” Nora said after wiping the blood from her hands.

“I asked them quite politely not to do so,” Zevran replied, tipping her a wink.

“And that worked?”

“Well no, not at first. But then one of their guild masters woke up beside the corpse of the most recent intruder he’d sent.”

He let out a brief bark of laughter at the memory. In truth, the Crow attacks had not worried him for quite some time. The assassins who made an appearance these days were always middling level talents, too arrogant or too sloppy to be much of a threat, especially now that they were no longer permitted in his home. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Crows were using him to cull unsatisfactory members from their ranks.

He might have considered billing them for his services, but the ambushes helped to provide additional diversions for Nora. It was, after all, difficult to focus on lost love when one’s heart was at risk of more literal danger.


	8. Chapter 8

Nora wrote to Fergus once a week. She waited a day or two before sending the letters, because every time she took up her pen there was a risk of saying more than she’d intended. Her brother had known a sharper pain than she ever could. He wouldn’t judge her. But she didn’t want him worrying about her, either.

And honestly, there was less and less to worry about as the months passed. She went on long walks with Ash, shopped with Isabela, and sparred with Fenris. Some nights Zevran took her out into the city, guiding them between glittering mansions and tawdry music halls with practiced ease. His housekeeper taught her to make some kind of crumbly fruit-based dessert and pronounced her third try at it acceptable.

She sometimes felt a heavy surge of guilt at jaunting around Antiva City when she knew there was work to be done. She had hardly been raised for such an idle life, but it always seemed as if some cruel fate magnified the burden of every responsibility she took on. Joining the wardens of Ferelden became leading them. Asking allies to fulfill their treaty responsibilities meant solving half a hundred problems for them first. Foil the bandits, find the artifacts, return every stray piece of junk to its grateful owner. All part of a day’s work. Perhaps she should have wiped their noses as part of the bargain.

She’d saved Eamon’s son. She’d granted Alistair his revenge, even knowing full well that Duncan would never have tossed aside a recruit of Loghain’s caliber. She lent her strength and her influence to every worthy cause in her path as she ground through her tasks by sheer force of will. But every time she gave, the kingdom asked for more.

It had taken an embarrassingly long time to realize that her relationship with Alistair had been cooling even before the infidelity. He’d still been kind and attentive, happy to see her, and as always, so careful of her pleasure. But his banter had, in retrospect, come to sound more like a habit than an eager attempt to draw her smiles. He remained as vigorous as ever on those nights when they both reached bed with a little energy to burn, but his caresses spoke as much of duty as need.

Some low, vicious voice in her head wondered if the dissolution of her marriage wasn’t her own fault. If she’d refused some of the demands on her time, if she’d stayed in the capital more, they could have been happier. Alistair might have decided against compromising his vows. But done was done, and there was no sense dwelling on any of the choices she’d made.

***

Nora’s heart beat hard in her chest as she bolted around the corner, putting as much distance as possible between herself and pursuit. The crowds were thinner here, since she’d gotten away from the bulk of the city’s massive Satinalia celebration.

It was the fourth day of the week-long event, and things had been going well. Isabela and Fenris hired their usual suite for the entire festival, which gave the four friends a convenient spot to dine and drink when they wanted a break from the revelry. Nora had three small gifts tucked away in her room: gold earrings for Isabela, a new book for Fenris, and for Zevran, a scarf just the shade of his eyes. Best of all, Zevran assured her that the Crows did not hunt during Satinalia. Granting the week’s reprieve to their targets was one of the guild’s oldest rules, so all were free to enjoy themselves without fear of a poisoned cup or an assassin’s blade.

She took a sudden turn, picking her direction at random. How long before she could work her way back home? She got a sharp little shock as she realized that “home” meant Zevran’s place to her now. That was something to think about later, when she had more time on her hands and less ale in her gut.

Another turn, and then another. She made it halfway down a likely looking alley before she saw that it dead-ended. Nora heard a baying hound behind her and whirled just in time to see the lithe, masked shape that dropped lightly down to block her path.

“You have led me quite a chase, my dear warden, but the time for running is past,” Zevran said. His smile blazed out in the dark. Ash trotted up to the assassin’s heels and sat down.

“Well aren’t you a rotten traitor,” Nora said to the dog, not unkindly. Ash made a happy bark in reply.

Zevran laughed. “The mabari clearly realizes that I was in the right of the argument. My token, if you please.”

She handed him the oversized coin with an unhappy sigh. Zevran had won it by besting her in a carnival game at the start of the festival. Nora was convinced that he’d cheated somehow, so she’d lifted the coin from his pocket.

That first time, it had been easy. Later on, she saw Zevran casually flipping the coin back and forth across his knuckles. They’d been picking each other’s pockets for the token ever since, up until she felt his hand lock tight around her wrist. She was caught in the act, just as she'd nearly managed to tease the damn thing free from him again. Nora had shaken off his grip and then the chase was on. She might have had a hope of outpacing Zevran, but she hadn’t counted on being tracked by her own hunting dog.

“And now that we have captured her, my four-legged friend, what are we to do with her?” Zevran leaned down towards the mabari.

Ash scampered forward with an excited yip and lunged, planting his dirty paws nearly up on Nora’s shoulders. She was tired, tipsy, and unprepared for the weight of him. She toppled over, falling flat on the muddy cobbles.

“Ah,” Zevran said with a sympathetic wince, stepping forward to offer his hand. “My own preference would have been something slightly less filthy, but apparently your hound has decided to deny you the festival, for at least as long as it takes to find a bath and a fresh set of clothes.

They set off for home arm in arm, with Ash loping out before them. Nora readjusted her own mask, a simple piece of black, molded leather in exactly the style that half the city was wearing now. It was a little thing to make her feel so different, but when she put the mask on she felt bolder, like the kind of woman who might steal from a notorious assassin or run heedlessly through the streets of Antiva City. Like the kind of woman who was ready to rejoin the world.


	9. Chapter 9

They spent the last night of the festival at a merchant prince’s ball. The invitations, assuming Zevran hadn’t just forged them, must have cost him dearly. He produced the crisply engraved papers along with his other Satinalia gifts for the group, a set of elaborate masks suitable for such a formal event. Nora also received a ribbon-decked hairpiece from Fenris and a pair of silk stockings from Isabela, leading her to suspect that they were all in on the surprise.

She’d bought one gown since arriving in Antiva. Isabela had insisted on it months ago, which made her wonder how long they’d been planning this little outing. Immediately after the gift exchange the pirate had bundled her upstairs, where she found both of their ensembles laid out and ready. Isabela squirmed into a creamy gold sheath that was cut low enough to be daring even for Antiva. The full skirt of Nora’s jewel-blue gown was slightly more traditional, though its off-the-shoulder sleeves showed more of her fair skin than any Ferelden dress would have. Isabela pinned Nora’s long hair into a massive pile atop her head, rimmed her eyes with a light smear of kohl, and declared her ready.

The men had donned formal suits of their own. Zevran wore close-fitting trousers and a tight jacket in shades of his typical green, while Fenris’s clothing was cut more loosely and all in classic black. And surprisingly enough, he was actually wearing shoes.

Before going out into the night, Isabela and Fenris donned their gifted masks, thin porcelain coverings with cream and black paint schemes that marked them as a pair. The design of Nora’s own mask had drawn out a gasp when she first saw it. It was silver, hammered into a delicate openwork design that looked like an angular approach to lace. Zevran’s mask was in a similar style, but his, of course, was gold.

The metal mask chilled her face when she first slipped it on, but it soon warmed from contact with her skin. All three of her companions looked amazing, but she kept sneaking glances at Zevran.

She’d been living with the man for the better part of a year now; he had a raw, unselfconscious attraction that was part of the order of her world. It wasn’t something she usually paid much mind to, though. The sky was blue, ice was cold, and Zevran was beautiful. It was a less important truth than his good humor or his sense of loyalty. But she had grown intensely aware of it as they bumped through the uneven streets in their rented carriage.

All through the night, she watched him. She wasn’t the only one. He danced with every person who summoned up the nerve to ask, but he kept circling back to her, his eyes seeking her out while she sipped glass after glass of sparkling wine or twirled in the arms of each new stranger.

She danced with Fenris half a dozen times. Between his brooding good looks and obvious grace he garnered his fair share of attention, but he would not partner anyone other than her or Isabela.

Nora spotted the pirate all but leering at them during one of their dances, and some wicked sense of mischief gripped her. She stretched up to whisper in Fenris’s ear. “Shall we give her a show?”

His green eyes widened, then went half a shade darker as he pulled her into a closer, tighter hold, splaying one broad hand across her lower back. With their bodies pressed against one another the dance became almost indecent, as much about the movement of their hips as the steps she followed him through.

Isabela looked them over with a slow, appreciative smile when they were finished. “Sorry, sweet thing,” she said, guiding the warrior away with a light touch. “But I have a piece of urgent business that requires this man’s attention. We’ll see you tomorrow, unless you’d care to come along and give him a hand?”

Nora just laughed and blew her a kiss.

***

Zevran prowled the ballroom, mingling among the crowd but never straying too far from his charge. He had once hunted in places like this, and those old instincts burned through his blood like a fever, nudging at him to watch, to stalk, to pounce.

During his occasional dances with Nora, he focused in on small details. The few tendrils of mahogany hair that seemed intent on escaping their bounds. The smooth texture of her satin bodice. The sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him, her fair skin flushed from all those turns about the floor. Allowing himself those small pieces kept her presence from overwhelming his good sense.

Then he saw Fenris draw her close, and he wasn’t sure if he’d rather bathe his dagger in the other elf’s blood or drag both of them off to some convenient, shadowy alcove. The song ended before he’d quite reached his decision, saving him the trouble of making one.

Nora caught his eye and nodded towards the balcony, so he followed. She passed a serving table as she exited, grabbing the bottle instead of one of the glasses. No one denied her. He was half convinced that no one could.

“Maker’s breath, it feels good out here. I think I got a bit overheated.” She waved a hand in front of her face and passed him the bottle.

He took a quick pull from it before he replied. “After that performance, my lovely, I am hardly surprised."

“You saw that, huh?” Her voice took on a slightly sheepish tone.

Zevran passed the bottle back and grinned. “Oh yes, along with several hundred other people all wishing they had been in his place.”

She shot for a startled gasp, but let it fall off into giggles. “Best get me away from here before the unmasking then. Think of the scandal!”

He gave her an assessing look. “Well climbing from the balcony is not an option, thanks to your wildly impractical attire. Perhaps we can sneak out through the servants’ entrance before anyone is the wiser.”

They devised and discarded several improbable plans for escaping the ball before just hiring another carriage. Once they reached home, Zevran caught her hand and brushed the knuckles to his lips in a brief, entirely friendly kiss before retreating to his room.

Just as he breathed a sigh of relief that he’d managed to get through the night without taking advantage of the situation, he heard her calling from the other bedroom.

“Uh, Zev? This stupid gown laces up the back. I think I need a hand getting out of it.”


	10. Chapter 10

Zevran set aside his mask and took a steadying breath before walking down the hall to Nora’s room.

Her mask was off as well, and she gave him an apologetic glance as he entered. “Sorry. I’d assumed that Bela would be around to help me out of this thing.”

“It is no matter,” he replied with a shrug, keeping his voice light. “I have rather a lot of experience at playing the lady’s maid, after all.”

She arched one slender eyebrow and then turned to give him her back. A quick survey revealed that Isabela’s knot was every bit as fast as one might expect from a seafarer. He picked it out and loosed the velvet ties with gentle but efficient movements.

Before long, the gown gaped to the waist and fell past her hips, leaving her standing before him in her shift and corset. The dress didn’t puddle at her feet the way a less structured style might have, though. Between the full skirts and stiff bodice, Nora was still engulfed nearly to her knees in fabric.

So Zevran set his hands at her waist and lifted her, twisting his body as if they were still following some elaborate dance, then set her down free of the garment. She let out an unguarded laugh of pure delight, a sound he vaguely remembered from a very long time ago.

He swept the dress off the floor and folded it carefully over a chair to protect it from wrinkles. After that moment to compose himself, Zevran felt ready to handle the rest of his challenge.

Nora’s corset was pulled in tight on her narrow frame. He remembered her as more of a creature of comfort, so he wondered if the restrictive lacing was a habit picked up over years at court or simply Isabela’s whim. This knot was, if anything, more thorough than the pirate’s first. Once he finally teased it open the work went quickly, though. His fingers moved lower and lower, towards her trim waist and the gentle swell of her hips.

Zevran dragged his gaze upward; he didn’t truly need to see the laces to finish the job. He fixed his eyes firmly on her mahogany hair.

When they were together, he’d enjoyed tending it. Unwiding her braids in the privacy of her tent each night, plaiting them again before she stood watch or gave the order to break camp. The full glory of her hair had been like a secret between them, the only romantic indulgence he had allowed himself to claim.

The first time he’d seen it done this formally was in Redcliffe, at that banquet the Arlessa had insisted on holding to show appreciation for Eamon’s recovery. Zevran had laughed his way through the farce of a dinner, watching his battle-weary comrades pick at the fancy Orlesian food they’d been served while Isolde made wistful eyes at Tegan. Once it was finally over, he climbed in through Nora’s window only to find her in a wisp of a nightgown, her hair still up and waiting for him to free it.

The corset hit the floor, and he knew he should leave. He lifted his hands to her hair instead. There was a slight hitch in Nora’s breathing, then her shoulders relaxed as he undid Isabela’s last bit of handiwork. Pins scattered carelessly to the ground as he drew them out. The hairpiece followed, though at least he tossed that onto a table so she wouldn’t risk stepping on the pretty gift.

His fingers combed through that thick, glossy hair as it fell in gentle waves down her back. He went slowly, but he still ran out of pins far too soon. When he was finished she turned, suddenly standing too close. He could step back, move away, make a bow or a joke and ease them towards that careful friendship he’d been so set on maintaining. But he kept very, very still.

Nora bent her head down and kissed him. The first brush was tentative. The contact tingled down his spine, and he wanted more. He parted his lips slightly and let out a brief moan of encouragement. She ramped up the pressure and opened her mouth, skimming her tongue against his lower lip, and Zevran was lost.

He fisted one hand in her hair and grabbed at her waist with the other, crushing her to him. She clutched at his back and tilted up her chin as he ran a line of quick, hot kisses down the length of her neck.

She had walked heavily through his fantasies for all these years; he remembered precisely how to rouse her passion. He nuzzled at the spot where neck met shoulder, and when she gasped at the sensation, he returned to her lips. He moved his mouth against hers, soft but insistent, with just the occasional hint of teeth. She ran a finger along the sensitive edge of his ear, and Zevran became very aware that only the thin cotton shift kept his hands from a wider expanse of her delicate skin.

It would be a simple thing to bunch it up, to pull it over her head, to lay her down and caress her until she shuddered beneath his touch. He pictured it in his mind as he’d done so many times before, but then an unwelcome memory bubbled to the surface.

_“It won’t take long to start working your wiles on her. It’s what you do.”_

Zevran froze. He’d been so determined to rise above Alistair’s expectations, to be there for Nora without any added pressure. And now here he was, playing off their memories, their shared history, to seduce her.

Nora cupped a hand against his cheek. “Zev? What is it?”

He winced at the concern in her eyes. “This cannot continue, my dear. I am sorry.” He fled towards his own room, not daring to look behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

After a long but restless sleep, there was part of Nora that wanted to pack and slip out a window. But considering that she’d once taken on an Archdemon, she ought to be able to handle the sting of rejection.

That measuring stick was always at hand. Perhaps it said something about the life she’d lived since those days. Long weeks on the road between Denerim and Amaranthine were nothing to complain of for someone who’d fought an Archdemon. The distance that sprang up in all her relationships seemed trivial in comparison. Infertility? Political machinations? They were mere inconveniences compared to the Blight. It was a wonder that she hadn’t just clenched her teeth and borne the infidelity, too.

Now here she was, ready to admit that she wanted something different, something new, something that would feel good even before comparing it to a god-ridden dragon. So naturally, it was the perfect time to lose her head and throw herself at her best friend.

How could she face him after that?

When she finally gathered the courage to go downstairs, she found him sitting by the fire with Ash at his feet. He looked up at her and smiled.

That creeping anxiety flooded from her mind as she realized her worries were foolish. This was _Zevran_. He wouldn’t judge her. Zev kept most people at arm’s length, but once someone breached those defenses then he was damn near unshakeable. He wouldn’t throw up his hands and decide that their issues were just too difficult to deal with.

He stood, and a slight note of wariness shaded his eyes. “Nora…”

“Do we have to speak of it?” The last thing she wanted was a detailed explanation of his lack of interest.

“Not if you do not wish to.”

She gave him a grateful nod, and then they sat by the fire together.

***

The weeks began slipping by again as they held to their previous pattern.

Zevran found himself almost preferring those lazy days when Isabela and Fenris were off at sea. The pirate queen watched him with speculative eyes of late, and he could never quite guess at the reason. Nora bloomed in their company though, which was worth whatever Isabela was plotting.

The foursome took another shopping trip one afternoon, which predictably led to Isabela asking the men for detailed, specific feedback on which dresses best flattered Nora’s figure. The discussion left them all laughing until they were breathless, and Fenris had gone an interesting shade of pink in the process.

Later on, in Isabela’s suite, they ate, drank, and rehashed the day. Zevran pulled heavily on his bottle of brandy, not quite wanting the evening to end. Nora bested Fenris at cards, using a double-deal so subtle that Zevran had almost missed it, and the tall warrior retreated to sit on a low couch with Isabela. Conversation continued, though the couple occasionally dropped into whispers that provoked the pirate’s naughtiest smile.

Eventually, Isabella returned to that afternoon’s spirited debate about Nora’s choice in bodices. “It was a simple enough question, Fenris,” Isabela said sweetly. Her words were pitched just loud enough to carry.

“It was not. I am unaccustomed to talking about a lady’s breasts,” Fenris said dryly.

“Liar. You talk about my breasts all the time. Sometimes in Tevene.”

“That is different,” he replied, dropping his voice into a throaty purr. “And I would hardly consider you a lady.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” she said, laughing.

Fenris drew the pirate up into his lap and claimed her lips in a hard, passionate kiss. He nibbled lightly down one side of her neck, seeming almost unaware of their audience until his lashes fluttered open and he locked those clear, green eyes firmly on Zevran.

There was as much challenge as invitation in the warrior’s gaze, and Zevran felt a wave of pure lust prickle across his skin. Zevran wanted him. He wanted to see just how far the reach of those tattoos extended; he wanted to feel the weight of that impossibly tall elf straining above him. He wanted the two of them to exhaust Isabela so thoroughly that the pirate, languid from her own pleasure, would be content to lie back and watch him make her lover scream.

After a last, long kiss, Isabela and Fenris moved to the bedroom. Neither bothered to close the door behind them.

“Night, Zev,” Nora said slyly. She was somehow already at the door to the suite. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”


	12. Chapter 12

Nora was halfway back to Zevran’s townhouse before he fell in step beside her. Her eyes widened just a fraction before she spoke. “Didn’t think I’d see you again until at least tomorrow afternoon.”

Zevran sighed. If it were some other day, or perhaps some other life, he would have cheerfully given way to half so much temptation. But after that initial rush of animalistic need, the thought of indulging himself with his friends left him feeling strangely brittle.

That wasn't something he wanted to examine too closely, so he worked his sigh into an exaggerated dramatic gesture. “When last I spent time with Isabela and one of her lovers, the poor man fell madly in love with me. She seems quite attached to this one, no? So I did not care to risk it.”

“You’re a good friend, Zev,” Nora said, patting his arm.

His smile hardened just a little, though she couldn't see it in the dark. "Ah, my warden, it is kind of you to say so."

***

The next day saw Isabela and Fenris at their door earlier than he would have expected. After voicing a gravely good morning, the warrior asked Nora to help him pick out a few Ferelden histories at a nearby bookshop.

When they were gone, Isabela helped herself to a drink and perched sideways in an armchair. She finished the glass before launching into the reason for her visit. “So when are you going to tell Nora you’re in love with her?”

Zevran went still, though his voice took on a note of warning. “Isabela…”

She cut him off. “It’s the only possible reason you aren’t passed out in our suite with that satisfied smirk on your face, and you know it. So why not go after her?”

He sighed. “Nora has been through enough. I will not try to lure her into my bed when she needs my friendship.”

The pirate let out a disgusted huff. “You’d do better to pay more attention to what she wants than what she supposedly needs. I heard about Satinalia.”

“That should not have happened.” He raised one hand in a defensive gesture.

“The way I heard it, she’s the one who kissed you.”

Zevran laughed, but the sound was short and hollow. “Believe me, Isabela, I knew precisely what I was doing.”

“And did you stop to consider that she did too?” She pressed on without giving him a chance to answer. “Of course not. You pushed her away for some stupid, selfless reason, and now she thinks she’s too broken to be desirable.”

His tone went sharp. “Did she say that?”

Isabela waved off the question. “She didn’t have to. You know you could cut that woman and she’d tell you it tickled. But Nora won’t spend the rest of her life tucked chastely away in your spare room. If you don’t get over yourself, you’ll lose her.”

“She’s never been mine to lose,” he said quietly.

“Maker save me from hedonists in love,” the pirate muttered, rolling her eyes. “Stop making things so complicated. The next time Nora walks through that door, take her upstairs and screw her until the only coherent thought in her head is your name. Everything else will sort itself out.”

Before he could form a reply, Zevran’s front door slammed open. Fenris skidded through the entryway, alarm in his cold, green eyes. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice almost breaking over the simple syllables. “The Crows took her.”


	13. Chapter 13

“They took her,” Fenris said again. “And I could not find them.”

Part of Zevran wanted to beat the rest of the story out of the other elf’s lyrium-marked hide. How could Fenris stand here, alive and unharmed and without her? But the slump in Fenris’s posture showed that he was already asking himself those questions, and Zevran shoved aside the unfair impulse. After all, there was only one person in this room truly to blame for the Crow threat. All he said was, “Tell me.”

“We were at the bookseller’s. The large one, near that shop that sells mage trinkets.” At Zevran’s nod of recognition, Fenris continued. “Nora sat me down with a few volumes and went off to look for more. It could not have been very long, but when I looked for her, there was no sign. I found one fruit merchant who saw her escorted away by a pair of Crows, but no one else would even speak to me.”

That was hardly surprising. The people of Antiva City had learned not to meddle when the Crows were involved. Thankfully, Zevran did not need their cooperation to find where she’d gone.

He looked over to find Ash standing ready, regarding him with impatient eyes. “Yes, my friend,” Zevran told the mabari. “Now we hunt.”

Once they reached the market, Ash quickly found the scent. The hound darted off, baying as he ran. Ash would bolt ahead of the others and then check his pace, as if frustrated by his slower companions but knowing they might prove useful.

As he jogged through the crowded streets, Zevran’s thoughts skipped among all his recent shortcomings. He should have taken the Crows more seriously. He should have rooted them out of all their safe little nests. He should have given thought to taking Nora beyond their reach entirely. He loved the city of his birth, but it was not as precious to him as her safety.

He had been too complacent, too willing to let things go on as they were rather than shaping his life as he chose. He was Zevran Arainai, thwarter of assassins and slayer of darkspawn. He’d walked the Dark Roads with a smile on his face; his blades had shed the Archdemon’s blood. He knew who he was and what he wanted, and it was time to stop pretending otherwise. He would find Nora, he would bleed any person who’d dared to threaten her, and then he would take her home.

Ash led them to a crumbling warehouse in a seedy part of town. Zevran sent Isabela and Fenris to look for a back entrance, but he didn’t wait for them to get into position. Zevran was tired of waiting. He drew his swords and walked into the trap.

The scene that met his eyes was not what he’d expected. There was an empty chair and a coil of rope on the ground behind it. The Crows in the room, seven armed men and women, were quietly bleeding on the floor. Ash pushed past Zevran, barking happily as he ran towards Nora.

She stood among the dead, chest heaving slightly from her exertions, leathers spattered with the blood of his enemies. She looked strong, deadly, and to Zeveran’s mind, perfect.

One of the assassins let out a low groan and the mabari veered over to the survivor. There was a growl and a crunch, and then the injured man was still. Nora gave a slight wince, but Zevran agreed with the hound’s decision. None of these got to touch her and live.

“I was going to wait for you to get here,” she began as he approached. “Since they went to so much trouble, I thought I’d let the leader make whatever little speech he had planned before we took them. But then he said something rather uncomplimentary about you, and you know I can’t tolerate rudeness from anyone who’s trying to kill my friends.”

Zevran laughed and wound his fingers through her bloody hands. “I was worried, my warden, though it appears you did not need me after all.”

“Of course I need you,” she said, putting just a hint of reproach in her tone. Her clear blue eyes threatened to drown him. “Who else is going to help me carry all their stuff to the market?”

He laughed again, just as Isabela and Fenris forced their way past the door behind her.

“Oh, sweet thing,” Isabela said, looking over the carnage. “You couldn’t even save me one?”

Isabela and Fenris walked them back to the townhouse, but after a smile and a word of thanks, Zevran left them standing on the steps. Nora fumbled off her boots the instant she was inside, while Ash curled up by the fireplace, apparently satisfied that things were back as they should be.

“Are you injured?” Zevran asked.

She shook her head. “A few new bruises, maybe. Mostly I just need a bath.”

“Now that is a request I can easily handle.” He gave her a slow smile and turned to walk up the stairs.


	14. Chapter 14

Nora was half-convinced that Zevran picked this house solely because of the bathing chamber; it was nearly as large as the room that she slept in. She walked in to find Zevran already filling the enormous tub with warm, gently bubbling water from an enchanted tap that must have cost the assassin a small fortune. Zev always had liked his comforts.

She went to a separate basin and used a stiff brush to scrub the worst of the grime from her hands and arms. Once she started to shed pieces of leather armor, Zevran turned away to poke at his collection of soap and scented oil. She wriggled out of the rest of her clothes and slipped beneath the bubbles.

The warmth seeped quickly into her skin, and she slid deeper into the water. To her surprise, Zevran pulled a stool towards the tub, sat down, and began to knead the knots from her shoulders.

Her pulse skipped at the intimacy of the contact, but she’d mistaken his intentions before. She tried to relax and just enjoy the comfort he offered. He worked at her muscles with practiced fingers, thumbs dipping below the water line to dig against her shoulder blades. Once every ache and twinge had been soothed away, he shifted his attention higher.

Zevran unwound her braids and carded his hands through the waves they left behind. He reached forward to lightly grasp her chin and lift it, tilting her head back before pouring half a pitcher of clean water over her brow. Then he squeezed a dollop of liquid soap into his hand and began to massage the citrus-scented concoction through her hair.

His fingers moved in slow circles across Nora’s scalp. She focused on taking slow, deep breaths, but she couldn’t resist a hum of pleasure when Zevran’s hand drifted down to caress her neck. All too soon, he hefted the pitcher again and rinsed the lather from her hair. Then he leaned in close over her shoulder.

She felt a warm puff of breath against her ear before he finally spoke. “Considering what brought you here, I have allowed myself to believe that giving way to my desires would be selfish. But I find that I have grown a little weary of self-restraint. I want to be with you. I will no longer pretend that it is not so. Should you feel the same, my warden, then come to bed.”

Before she could respond, before she could even think about those wild, improbable words jangling around inside her skull, Zevran withdrew. He closed the door behind him.

He left her there, breathless in the cooling water. She wanted to follow him right away, to strip him down and claim whatever he was willing to give, but a small, persistent part of her insisted that she think this through. She sighed and reached for the bar of soap.

She took her time washing, drying off, and picking through the basket of nightclothes that she kept in the bathing chamber. It was only as she grabbed a shift down at the bottom of the pile, another gift from Isabela, that Nora realized she’d made her decision.

Once she emerged, Zevran was lying back on his bed with his head propped up on one hand. He wore only a pair of dark cotton trousers, and his bronze skin gleamed in the fading light. He didn’t call to her or beckon her over. He’d said his peace already, so he simply watched her through half-lidded eyes.

His mouth curved into a crooked smile as she began to walk towards the bed, and then he rolled to his feet. Nora tried to come up with something clever to say, something that might chase the awkwardness from the moment, but her mouth went dry. All she could think was, _Maker, he’s beautiful_.

She closed the last few steps between them and, keeping her eyes locked firmly on his, trailed a tentative hand down the hard planes of his chest. He took in a quick, sharp breath, and then he drew her into his arms.

A jolt of heat surged through her as Zevran claimed her lips. The kiss was firm, almost demanding; it was also maddeningly slow. She nipped at his bottom lip, trying to goad him into a more frenzied response, but he would not be hurried.

After a long, relentless embrace that left her dizzy with need, he dropped a hand to the knot of her robe and jerked it free. She shrugged the robe from her shoulders, revealing a short shift made entirely of wine-colored lace. The open pattern of the lace showed that she was bare underneath, and the rumble of approval that came from low in Zev’s throat made it plain he appreciated the view.

She slipped her thumbs into the waist of his trousers, intending to shove them down over his hips. But before she could remove one of the only remaining barriers between them, Zevran pushed her hands away with a knowing laugh. He circled behind her, grabbed her hips, and pulled her back against him.

“I have thought about this for a very long time, and I will not simply ravish you like some graceless brute. Not this first time, in any case,” he said, between planting small kisses at her neck.

Nora could feel him hard and ready along the back of her thigh, but his voice held a dark note of promise that helped to temper her urgency. His tongue traced a curve along the back of her ear, and she decided that, at least for now, she would let Zevran have his way.

Almost as if he sensed her surrender, he tugged her back towards the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

After all this time, Nora Cousland was in his bed.

She looked up at him with bright eyes as he took in the sight of her. Zevran’s gaze raked over the path his hands and lips would soon follow, over her long legs and small breasts to the delicate lines of her collarbones. He wondered if he could still make her squirm just by nuzzling there. He was eager to find out.

He eased the hem of her shift up just enough to let him plant a knee between her thighs before he kissed her again. She’d ceased those charming attempts to rush their pleasure, but the feel of her tongue slipping past his lips was nearly enough to make him rethink his leisurely approach.

Zevran traced lightly over the lace that graced her curves. Her nipples were already straining against the shift, and she let out a ragged gasp when he shifted down to take one of those intriguing peaks into his mouth through the barely-there fabric. She arched her back into the contact and then twined a hand in his hair, ghosting her clever fingers across the tip of his ear.

The touch sent hot need surging through his veins, and he knew precisely how he wanted to express that desire.

He pulled at the shift until it gathered around her waist, leaving her lower body entirely exposed to him. Then he kissed her hipbone, eventually moving his mouth down further in a slow but inevitable path. Zevran took his time, arranging her legs just so over his shoulders before brushing his lips against the tender flesh of her inner thighs. But just before crossing that line between teasing and cruelty, he leaned forward to sweep his tongue across the core of her.

Nora’s moan echoed sweetly through his ears as she gave herself over to sensation. He slid a pair of fingers inside her, pumping them in a steady counterpoint to the rhythm that he lapped over her clit. Her whole body tensed so he slowed his tempo, holding her poised at the edge of climax for as long as they both could bear it.

“Zev, please.” Her voice was frayed with longing. He pulsed his tongue more firmly against her, driving her closer and closer to the breaking point. Finally, she cried out his name. Her hips bucked beneath him, but he continued his attentions until her orgasm ebbed.

He moved up beside her then, taking her into his arms. She trembled a little from the aftershocks of their passion. Zevran stroked her hair, and she made a small, contented sigh. Her breathing steadied, then slowed, and he wondered if she was drifting into sleep.

Then her hand plucked at the side of his trousers. “Can we get rid of these damned pants yet?”

Zevran agreed with a laugh, kicked out of his pants in record time, and settled back to watch her strip off the shift. As his eyes roved across her sleek muscles and coral-tipped breasts, he briefly thought about burning every stitch of clothing that she owned. But that was a plan to consider later, once he’d dealt with the business at hand.

He was about to part her thighs and ease himself between them, but Nora threw a leg over his waist and straddled him instead. She leaned down and kissed him hard, angling her body so she could rub against his erection. He was almost painfully hard.

After a few more heated kisses, she wrapped a hand around his cock and guided him towards her entrance. She glanced a quick question at him, and he made the slightest of nods. Then she sank down on him, taking him fully inside her in one smooth stroke.

He groaned at the sheer sensual thrill of it. She was tight and wet and perfect; nothing had ever felt so good. And then she began to move. She rocked against him, steadily working towards a pace that suited her. She sat up and leaned back, looking over him with a sultry smile.

When he lifted his hips up to meet her, she set a palm on his stomach to still him. She was claiming her own pleasure, perhaps claiming him in the process, and he was happy to yield to her possession.

Zevran lost himself in bliss for a time, but he snapped back to alertness when her movements became more erratic. He took a moment to revel in the sight of her, eyes flashing, breasts heaving, hair still damp from the bath, and then he moved his thumb down to rub at her as she rode him.

Nora shattered. She shouted his name as she throbbed around him, which sent him reeling into his own release. He thrust up into her at last, losing the sense of any boundary between them, pulling her into an embrace as he spent himself deep inside her. She collapsed across his chest, and then they both were still.

She reached for him again some time later. They spent the rest of the night torn between dozing and exploring one another’s bodies. As the sun rose, she turned to him and finally voiced the question he knew was coming. “So what does this mean for us?”

“I am yours,” he told her. He tried to put those other words, the ones he could never seem to say, into his gaze.

Her eyes softened, almost as if she’d heard them. “So you’re saying you don’t want me to go back to sleeping in the other room tonight?”

“Well this bed is larger, and thus it allows for more possibilities,” he said, twisting his mouth into a wicked grin. “But we should try that one also, for variety’s sake.”

She gave him a peck on the lips and then snuggled back down in his arms, apparently satisfied with his answer. But Zevran felt a sudden sense of agitation. She deserved the truth of him. She deserved everything. He would not repeat his past mistakes.

He tilted his chin up to look straight in her sea-blue eyes as he trailed the backs of his fingers gently across her cheek. “Perhaps you do not realize it, but I am desperately in love with you.”

Zevran held his breath as his world rearranged itself. And when Nora sighed his name before drawing him into a long, soft kiss, he finally realized that total honestly, while terrifying, had its perks.

***

Much later in the day, the pair walked to the tavern to have a drink with Isabela and Fenris. They found their friends in the common room, where Isabella was enjoying a cozy chat with a beardless dwarf. But before making any introductions, the pirate turned to Zevran and Nora with a sharp look of appraisal.

A triumphant smile broke across Isabela’s face and, without looking over at Fenris, she held out an empty palm towards him. The tall elf grumbled something incomprehensible, but he produced a small stack of gold coins and dropped them in her hand.

Zevran wrapped an arm around Nora’s waist and laughed. It was strange to admit it, even to himself, but he loved his life almost as much as he loved the woman at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic story. Thanks so much to everyone who's taken the time to leave feedback or kudos. It's been a big encouragement, and I really appreciate it.


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